Chapter 10
Whispers of a possible impending Crim. Con. proceeding were abroad almost as soon as the notice of the birth of a daughter to Tiffany Brandon, Lady Darsham, née Pelham, with no mention of her husband Lord Darsham in the notice. Gossip centred around whether Lord Darsham would merely quietly separate from his wife, or be satisfied with the church’s solution, a divortium a mensa et thoro, in which the divorce was legal but remarriage was not, or whether civil proceedings against somebody would go ahead, and the full weight of a Criminal Conversation action be brought, to be followed by the private Bill in Parliament to finalise the divorce.
“Aunt Letty, why do you think Lord Darsham is not just settling for a separation or a church divorce?” asked Beth, on hearing the speculation.
“Because Adam is a fool, a loveable fool, but a fool nonetheless,” said Letty. “He will be determined to give Tiffany her freedom so that she might remarry. Whether she will wish to or not is a moot point; and though her reputation will be in shreds, divorced women have remarried. But Finchbury certainly can’t afford her, especially if he has to pay thousands of pounds in damages, as is common in such cases. Which he won’t be able to, of course, and Adam is sure to let him off, if he only takes Tiffany off his hands. Not that she can marry him anyway, legally. At least, I say so, because a divorced woman may not marry the man with whom she committed adultery, but I wonder if this will be tried as a fraud case, that she was with child before marriage? I have no idea if it counts or not.”
“Is it not expensive to have to have Parliament sit in judgement too?” asked Beth.
“Indeed; as much as five thousand pounds,” said Letty. “But then, you should consider that there are gentlemen who will lose that much in a night, gambling; Adam has no vices, he can afford it, and to ask for negligible damages.”
“How insulting to Lady Darsham, though, to have a nominal fee set on her fidelity!” said Beth.
“Perhaps that is where Adam plans to make his revenge on being fooled,” said Letty, dryly.
The ringing of all the bells in all the churches in London, and the town criers shouting glad news was a relief from hearing speculation about Adam and Tiffany.
“Oyez! Oyez! The war with France is over! Allied sovereigns entered Paris on the thirty-first ultimo!”
“Well, it’s only taken five days for the news to get here,” said Beth. “You’d have thought the allies could have used the French telegraph to send the news to Calais, a few hours to cross the channel, and the telegraph to London from the coast. But what do I know? I’m only a woman.”
“I suppose they only wanted official news to get out, which means despatches,” said Letty. “But you would think that they could have sent a courier at least with news by word of mouth, someone known to the Home Office or at Horseguards. Still! At least we do know, now.”
Letty insisted that Beth should rest on the day of the ball. It would be a long affair, probably not breaking up until well into the small hours, and Beth thought that she would be glad to have been given such instructions. She got dressed excitedly, shivering in the thin gauze and muslin of her pretty ballgown, pulling her long gloves over the goosebumps on her arms. It would be hot enough, dancing with the press of people, and the heat from all the candles, but here in the little house in Red Lion Square it was cold! Beth swathed herself in a shawl on top of a white velvet spencer, and ran downstairs, as soon as Sowerby had dressed her hair for her, and fastened pink and white silk roses into the comb that held the hair off her face.
“You look a picture, Miss,” ventured Sowerby. As Sowerby was not given to compliment, Beth permitted herself to feel that she looked quite presentable. Had she known it, the thought that she might dance that fast and wicked dance, the waltz, with Edward had given her more countenance than usual, and she was very much in looks. She donned a pelisse and a cloak, and the fur-lined overshoes that would mean she was less likely to get chilblains, and they set off. Letty too looked quite fine, in a deep ruby velvet gown, with black lace over it, and she had written to ask if chaperones might be permitted long sleeves, for Letty had no intention of dancing. On receiving the intelligence that long sleeves were considered quite acceptable for full dress in this inclement spring, Letty had been much relieved. The heat from the crowd and the candles would help, but those people who were not dancing but sitting all evening would be likely to become chilled down.
Arvendish House glowed with light. Not only were the lights inside spilling out onto the pavement, but lanterns were set outside, some to give light, and some with coloured glass to make a gay patchwork of colour thrown onto the pavement. Inside, the grand hallway had a most wonderful mosaic floor which copied the design of the painted ceiling above it, an extravagant gesture that quite took Beth’s breath away. Footmen took wraps and coats, and stood ready to take overshoes as they were removed, and maids carried them upstairs to the rooms set aside as dressing rooms, so that the ladies might not be overheated once they were within the house. The dressing rooms were two in number, an outer room where the outside garments were laid, and where maids might wait in case of any need to mend garments; and an inner room was discreetly outfitted with a number of screens, behind which the usual offices might be found, for the comfort of the ladies during the evening. It was a relief that one would not have to make one’s way to an outside closet in the cold!
Letty guided Beth back down stairs, where footmen waited, and one showed them to the ballroom, and announced them. It was all very grand! The ballroom was a double-cube room, of perfect proportions, and the wonderfully painted ceiling that was in here, too, was echoed by the chalked floor. Beth had heard that some grand balls had chalked designs on the floor, but she had never seen it before, and had chalked her slippers, as had everyone else, at Elizabeth’s masked ball. The extravagant riot of colours of classical figures must have taken an age to execute! And yet in a short time, it would all be danced to a mix of colours! It seemed a shame, in a way, and yet, no more so, perhaps, than eating a marvellously contrived confection. So far, almost everyone was treading around the outside of the main pattern to preserve it for as long as possible until the dancing started, so that later arrivals, might appreciate it too. The candelabra threw myriad twinkling lights from their cut glass ornamentation, and the light and the colour was breathtakingly exciting!
Introduced to her host and hostess, Beth curtseyed deeply, and murmured a thanks for the invitation.
“Well, well, nice to meet you,” said the Duke.
“Juliana said what a nice-mannered girl you are, and how you did not make sheep’s eyes at Lord Byesby,” said the Duchess.
“Why, he is too old to make sheep’s eyes at, even if I found him handsome!” said Beth.
Lord Arvendish roared with laughter.
“Poor Byesby, too old and not handsome,” he said. “The vicissitudes of an ageing rake.”
“I, however, find Lord Byesby disturbingly attractive, and therefore treat him warily,” said Letty, as she, too, was introduced, “but he was a friend of my late husband.”
“Ah, Grayling Grey had many friends, most of whom were as true to him as he was to all men,” said Lord Arvendish. “You are welcome, Mrs Grey.”
They moved on into the room as others were arriving to be greeted, and Beth froze momentarily to hear announced,
“Miss Amelia Hazelgrove.”
“You know she is much in society,” said Letty, quietly. “It would be almost wonderful if she were not here.”
“I suppose so,” said Beth. “I wish to turn round casually so I may see the beauty over whom Edward has made such a cake of himself.”
She turned to look around, and saw the perfect figure and curling black ringlets of the Beauty, her skin fashionably pale, and her lips pinker than anyone might reasonably expect without some artifice. Their famous pouting bow made the artifice a little more obvious than if she had left them to their natural devices, and Beth was a little chagrined to find herself spitefully pleased about that. The pale skin was not so flawless as her own, and the eyes were a little small, and a pale blue-grey, Beth thought. She suppressed a sigh, however, for Miss Hazelgrove had a figure like a Greek statue, and was dressed to enhance it, her snowy bosoms thrust up on a pillow of blonde lace. Miss Hazelgrove wore her white muslin over a gold gown with a gold bodice and gold ribbons on her ruched sleeves.
“Doesn’t do anything for her complexion, gold,” said Letty, in satisfaction. “I daresay it looked quite fetching in daylight, but she forgot the candles. Always dress with candles in mind; they enhance any yellow, and that girl has a yellow cast to her skin tone.”
“So she has,” said Beth, happily.
At that moment, Edward arrived, and was announced. Amelia Hazelgrove spread her fan and flirted it at him as he finished greeting his host and hostess.
“La, Edward! How nice to find that you are attending the ball! I declare, the only thing that could change it from a tedious squeeze into something quite entertaining!” she said.
“Tedious? A ball by Lord and Lady Arvendish? Hardly!” said Edward.
“How rude!” said Beth to Letty. “I would not invite back someone who was so rude about any entertainment I put on, surely the Arvendishes have heard!”
“It is fashionable to be endowed with ennui over the Season,” said Letty, “and to have one’s entertainment described as a squeeze is, in fact, a compliment.”
“Indeed? It seems discourteous to me,” said Beth. “And Edward has said her nay, and he is the soul of courtesy!”
The Beauty had pouted. Beth thought it made her look like some of the more ill-natured putti one saw on engravings of the Italian Masters.
“How you do take one up, Edward! I merely meant that any event would be flat without your presence to make it interesting!”
“How strange!” said Edward. “And I thought that you found my interests in country life and farming quite boring. At least, as I recall, you were always yawning when I spoke of them.”
The Beauty gave a little titter.
“Oh, but you do not usually make such lapses of taste!” she said. “You have also been wont to tell me what excellent looks I am in, and to discuss fashion with me!”
“I have never discussed fashion with you, Miss Hazelgrove,” said Edward, “I have listened to you discussing fashion, however, and it appears I have managed better to mask my total lack of interest from you.”
“Why so formal, Edward?” said Amelia, coyly flirting her fan across her face. “You were used to call me by my name!”
“Well, that was when I was anticipating you accepting an offer from me,” said Edward. “I could hardly do so when we parted with angry words.”
Amelia laughed. It was a much-practised, low, breathy laugh.
“As if I considered that anything but a lover’s tiff!” she said. “I do hope we might soon be upon the same footing we were before?”
“I doubt that, Miss Hazelgrove,” said Edward. “You explained how you felt, and I came away. That is an end to it.”
“Oh, but Edward! All is changed now it seems likely that your uncle is entirely without an heir again, save you!” said Amelia.
“All may be changed in that respect, but I prefer not to court a woman whose motives are all too clear,” said Edward.
“What can you mean?” said Amelia.
“He said he doesn’t much wish to be with a woman who sells herself on a long term lease for a barony any more than one who charges a shilling an hour in Covent Garden,” said Letty.
Edward winced.
“I had not intended to put it so baldly, Aunt Letty,” he said. “Miss Hazelgrove, my aunt, the Honourable Leticia Grey; her ward, Miss Renfield.”
Beth curtseyed prettily.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Hazelgrove,” she said. “You will want, I think, to retire to the ladies’ dressing room and repair the damage to your lipstick, it has smudged when you pouted.”
Amelia gave a little squeal, and retreated, her fan over her mouth.
“She wears lipstick?” said Edward.
“You great fool, of course she does,” said Letty. “She’s so vain about her big lips she wants to draw even more attention to them.”
“Oh!” said Edward.
Beth half considered saying something pitying about how it was the only way she might draw attention from her imperfect skin, and decided she would not descend to such tricks. She smiled at Edward.
“And were you planning on filling in some places on my dance card?” she said.
“Yes, indeed!” said Edward. “The waltz is danced in Arvendish house, though many think it fast; and if you will save me the supper dance, too, I should like that. If you are happy to waltz? One has the undivided attention of one’s partner to chat, which can be interrupted in a country dance.”
It might have been nice to have had Edward’s attention on the scary and exciting closeness during the waltz, but wanting to talk was the next best thing.
Edward approached Lady Arvendish, and with a bow, asked her permission to waltz with Beth.
“She seems a nicely behaved girl; I have no objection,” said Lady Arvendish. “Do you know how to waltz, Miss Renfield?”
“I hope so, My Lady,” said Beth, dropping a little curtsey. “I have studied the instructions, that Aunt Letty obtained from Vienna, quite assiduously, and we had a dancing master in the other day. I am sure that Mr Brandon will put me right if I go wrong, though, in his usual tactful and kindly way.”
“I’ll steer, and you row,” said Edward, cheerfully.
Lady Arvendish smiled upon them. She was pleased to see Edward Brandon with a nicer seeming girl than the spoilt Beauty. Edward was popular at any soirée or ball, as he might be guaranteed to be kindly and polite even to the shyest and most unprepossessing debutantes!
Beth smiled shyly, and inscribed Edward’s name on her dance card next to the waltz. There was a second waltz, but he must not stand up with her more than twice, and only for one waltz, or she would be labelled as ‘fast’. And so long as he did not waltz with Amelia Hazelgrove, Beth did not mind in the least!
Chapter 11
Beth’s dance card was rapidly filled; she was by no means the prettiest girl at the ball, not the most elegant, but her air of genuine enjoyment made her a more approachable figure for tongue-tied young men than the more fashionable, and often younger, girls who carefully assumed expressions of boredom. She danced two dances with young men of more enthusiasm than skill, and when the third confessed to two left feet, asked if he would sit the dance out with her, so long as he could procure her some lemonade. Mr Grindlay, which was his name, managed this with alacrity, and a plate of macaroons and rout cakes.
“It’s been a long time since dinner,” he said with naïve honesty.
“It has, hasn’t it?” said Beth, never loath to nibble a macaroon. Mr Grindlay gave his heart to a charming young woman who did not make him dance and who understood and condoned hunger pangs.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Renfield?” asked Lady Arvendish. Beth arose to curtsey.
“Yes, thank you, your ladyship,” she said. “It is a beautiful house, and a lovely ball! I only regret that the chalking must be destroyed as we dance on it.”
“It was a very creditable job the chalkers made of it,” said Lady Arvendish, sounding pleased. “It is refreshing to see true enjoyment.”
“I don’t think I like fashionable ennui,” said Beth. “It seems so discourteous to someone who has gone to as much trouble as you have. Oh, have I made a social gaffe in saying so?” she asked.
Lady Arvendish smiled.
“Probably, my dear, but I don’t heed it. I am delighted that you have noticed, and are enjoying the result. And your view of courtesy is quite charming!” she smiled and moved off, circulating amongst those presently sitting out.
“Her Ladyship terrifies me,” confided Mr Grindlay.
“I think she seems a lovely woman,” said Beth.
“Yes, but you ain’t in her bad books,” said Mr Grindlay. “I don’t dance very well, and I can’t remember what to say when I’m supposed to make small talk, and I know nothing about fashion or i]on dits[/i] or anything like that, I don’t find crim. cons in the least bit interesting, and I don’t even find the turn of the dice very thrilling. Card games are moderately interesting, but only games of skill.”
“What things do interest you, Mr Grindlay?” asked Beth.
“Engineering projects,” said Mr Grindlay.
“Then I know just the lady you should meet,” said Beth. “She’s much cleverer than I am, and if you explain all about how it works, I should think she’d be able to discuss engineering with you. Miss Medlicott is immensely well read.”
“She didn’t seem to have anything to say when I danced with her earlier,” said Mr Grindlay.
“Well that’s because she’s even shyer than you are, and stutters at social gatherings,” said Beth. “Talk to her about bridges and steam engines.”
“I say! Really?” said Mr Grindlay, interested.
“Indeed! Miss Medlicott is a bluestocking and is looking for friends who share her interestes,” said Beth. “Ah, the dance is coming to an end, let me beckon her over…. Elizabeth, Mr Grindlay is interested in engineering and is consequently not the boring fellow you doubtless took him for whilst he was pretending not to be clever. Have you a dance free for him?”
Elizabeth blinked slightly at this forthright speech.
“I’ve been to see the Iron Bridge in Coalbrookdale, to see how it is constructed,” said Mr Grindlay, “and it is most ingenious.”
“I believe my next dance is free, Mr Grindlay, why do we not sit it out, and you can tell me all about it?” said Elizabeth. “I have some considerable knowledge of mathematics for a woman, and perhaps I will be able to follow your description.”
Mr Grindlay lost his heart for a second time that evening, especially when he discovered that Elizabeth was no more averse to light refreshments than Beth had been. It may be noted that Mr Grindlay was almost called out to fight a duel as Elizabeth forgot that she was engaged for the next dance and had to be discovered by her partner behind the potted palms discussing such subjects as reciprocating motion and pressure differentials.
Beth danced with Mr Dansey, and with Mr Chetwode, though in the case of the latter, they were of more danger to the other two couples in the set than not, Mr Chetwode being unco-ordinated in the extreme when not seated at an instrument, and much taller than Beth. Fortunately one of the people stood next to them was Lady Cressida, who was tolerant, it seemed, of Mr Chetwode, and on the other side, Mr Dansey had led out Abigail Meynell.
“You big oaf,” said Lady Cressida, without rancour, as she re-fastened the feather that Mr Chetwode had managed to knock out of her headdress, after the dance.
“Sorry, ma’am,” said Mr Chetwode. “I rather bent that. Buy you another. Buy you a dozen!”
Lady Cressida laughed.
“No real harm done,” she said.
Beth was waylaid by Major Whitall.
“May I ask for your hand in the waltz?” he asked. His arm was now out of its sling. “It is all the rage in France, you know.”
“I am sorry, Major, but I am already promised for the waltz,” said Beth. “Lady Arvendish gave her approval.”
“Oh. Who are you dancing with?” asked the Major, with more chagrin than grammar.
“I will be dancing with Mr Edward Brandon,” said Beth, demurely. “And I am engaged to sit out for the second waltz with Mr Philip Devereux.”
Philip Devereux had also asked permission to waltz and had asked Beth’s hand in order to wheedle her, he said, into gaining Elizabeth’s better graces than mere polite acceptance of a relationship. Elizabeth had declined to waltz with someone she did not know well, but suggested sitting the dance out instead.
“I don’t know this Devereux; sounds like a Frenchie,” said the Major.
“He’s a cousin of Elizabeth Medlicott and quite as English as you are,” said Beth.
“Hmmph. I hope you ain’t hoping to catch Brandon now it seems likely he’s heir to a barony again?” said the Major. “Heard the Baroness laid a cuckoo in the nest of the Baron, but it ain’t any good pursuing Brandon, he’s dotty over the Beauty, Miss Hazelgrove.”
“My second cousin Edward is indifferent to titles,” said Beth, coldly. “I have heard it said that soldiers gossip like old women, but I had never hitherto credited it; pardon me, my partner is looking for me.”
She walked into Edward’s arms for the waltz almost shaking with anger.
“That poltroon has put you in a pother,” said Edward. “Want to talk about it?”
“No, I want to call him out,” said Beth. “But as I cannot, I shall contrive to forget his foolishness. He was warning me off Mr Devereux because he sounds French, and off you because you are enamoured of Miss Hazelgrove.”
“So he made a wrong guess on both counts,” said Edward. “You are right; the best thing to do is to put such foolishness out of your mind. What were you talking about so assiduously with Mr, er, Grindlay?”
“He is interested in engineering, so I was persuading him that he and Elizabeth would get on tolerably well,” said Beth. “Did Miss Hazelgrove wish you to cry off the supper dance with me, in order to dance with her?”
“Yes, but I told her I was better brought up than to do something like that,” said Edward. “Beth, do you know what, she is most dreadfully shallow.”
“I fear that her parents have made much of her looks, and not encouraged her to broaden her mind,” said Beth. “Not that mine exactly encouraged me to do so, but I never had a pretty face to dwell upon, to take my mind off reading and wondering about the wonders of the world.”
“And your face reflects your delight in the world,” said Edward. “You are quite wasted as a woman, Beth, I’m sure you’d have made an excellent farmer.”
“Oh, more than likely,” said Beth. “But I am what I am, and I am content in my lot, you know!”
“It’s just as well,” said Edward. “Will you miss all this, when we are married? I like to live quietly in the country for the most part.”
“Not in the least,” said Beth. “I am enjoying it no end, it is a great novelty, but to be honest, I suspect that it would eventually pall, and I would long for my days to start early and finish early, as I am accustomed, instead of the other way about.”
“What a nice girl you are!” said Edward.
“And you are a most agreeable and thoughtful man,” said Beth. “I am surprised you did not get married years ago.”
Edward laughed.
“Oh, too buried in the country at first, and then enamoured of Amelia, and blind to everything about her that is the antithesis of what I really wish in a bride,” he said. “Really, I cannot see what I saw in her. She is pretty, but I do not think it will last for she frowns and pouts too much, and that makes her look like a dyspeptic codfish.”
Beth laughed.
“I expect somebody told her that her lips are sensuous and she tries so hard to draw attention to them that she has no idea that the attention drawn has become negative.”
“Well, perhaps that is so. Do you think I should point it out to her, in the spirit of having once been close?”
“I fancy she would take it in bad part,” said Beth, dryly, “and would be likely to take it as an insult not a friendly gesture.”
Edward considered.
“I believe you may be correct,” he said.
Beth smiled at him.
“I do not want to stop you doing what you think is right, but I cannot see Miss Hazelgrove taking what she would perceive as criticism,” she said. She wanted to say something, to make sure there was no void of silence in which she might enjoy too much the sensation of Edwards’s arm about her shoulder whilst hers encircled his and their other hands were clasped together, in the proper manner according to the rough sketches of the dance that had been in the instructions Letty had acquired. It was all very exciting, and at times their bodies came close to touching as they rotated through the dance’s evolutions.
Many young ladies were not waltzing; it was considered by some to be quite immoral, even if sanctioned by society leaders like the Duke and Duchess of Arvendish. Beth knew that this meant that there would be some sticklers who would never invite her to attend any ball they threw because of it, but she did not care. Being propelled around the floor by Edward was a heady sensation. Miss Hazelgrove was not one of those who eschewed the waltz, and Beth caught her looking over at her and Edward with a brief flash of anger, presumably that Edward was not languishing over not waltzing with her.
It was over too soon, and Beth retired to sit quietly beside Letty, fanning her hot face which was not red purely from the heat of the ballroom, and to recover from a giddiness that was not altogether to be explained by the circular motion of the dance.
Beth danced another dance with Mr Chetwode, who had likewise danced two dances with Lady Cressida. Lady Cressida did not waltz, but then, the image Beth conjured in her mind of Mr Chetwode waltzing was more comedic than in any wise romantic. It was, after all, quite plain that Lady Cressida was much less of an ice maiden with the unco-ordinated but very musical Mr Chetwode; or so Beth thought!
The supper dance left Mr Grindlay and Elizabeth to the right of Edward and Beth, and Edward said,
“I hear you are interested in engineering, Grindlay, have you looked much into drainage?”
“I can’t say I have,” said Mr Grindlay, “Though I can see it’s a necessary subject to study.”
“Even the principles of underdraining, which are simple enough require some necessities of engineering, though they may be summed up in two simple rules, which sound comedic and are yet profound,” said Edward.
“What are those?” asked Mr Grindlay.
“Water flows downhill; and it ain’t all water,” said Edward. “You have to make sure there’s somewhere for the runoff to go and to pass it through sand before it goes back into drinking water to clean it.”
“It is as profound as it sounds simple,” said Mr Grindlay. “I say, do the ladies mind us talking about drains?”
“For my part, I am glad that there are gentlemen who talk about drains, so that I may enjoy the comforts of their engineering,” said Beth.
“And I echo that s…sentiment,” said Elizabeth.
The conversation turned to bridges, after the couples had been involved in the exigencies of dancing, hampered by the inability of one gentleman ahead of them to keep time at all, and the flat footed shuffling of another, who was half of the couple who followed. This discussion went on into the supper room, Mr Grindlay and Elizabeth being placed most fortuitously opposite Edward and Beth, and, to Beth’s unholy glee sent Amelia Hazelgrove, on Edward’s other side, almost apoplectic.
The repast was grand, and Edward piled Beth’s plate high with delicious looking food. It was not ladylike, of course, to eat too much in public, but since the gentleman on Beth’s other side was Mr Chetwode, whose musical conversation with Lady Cressida was quite as deep and technical as that between Edward and Mr Grindlay, Beth felt at ease to enjoy the food, and to listen and learn from the discussion on bridge building.
Whether it was the food, the warmth, or the exercise, but Beth felt almost too tired to dance after supper. She was glad to be sitting out the waltz with Philip Devereux, and to watch how elegantly Edward performed with his hostess. And she fell asleep in the carriage on the way home, despite the cold, in contrast to the heat in the ballroom! Letty had to shake her awake, and Beth almost fell into bed, uncertain quite how Sowerby had helped her undress and get into her night rail and night cap.
It had been a most delightful evening, and Beth waltzed all night in Edward’s arms in her dreams.
Chapter 12
“This is a very select gathering, Miss Hazelgrove, I understood your mother was inviting a number of people to dinner,” said Edward, looking around with some disapproval at the dozen dinner guests, few of whom he knew well, and less of whom he liked at all.
Amelia laughed.
“Why, if it was too large a gathering, we should hardly exchange more than a dozen words, we were very hampered at the ball, were we not? And that tedious man going on about drains and demanding your attention, where the Arvendishes found him, I do not know; such a guy of a figure, and so pushy, quite a mushroom!”
“Hardly a mushroom, Miss Hazelgrove, the Grindlays may be found anywhere,” said Edward. “A perfectly respectable family, even if Mr Grindlay prefers his mathematics in the building of bridges, not the set of his neck-cloth. I found his conversation absorbing and informative.”
Amelia pouted.
“It was taking your attention from me,” she said. “And I thought I told you to call me Amelia?”
“My partner for the supper dance did not complain,” said Edward.
Amelia gave a tinkling laugh.
“Oh, I know she is a distant connection of yours and you have to do your duty, but Edward! What a little squab of a creature, so dumpy, and the amount she ate! Why, she knows herself to be of no account, and therefore does not dare complain about being ignored for such tedious subjects. I assure you, if I had been your partner, I would have made my feelings clear.”
“Oh, if Beth had objected, she would have said,” said Edward. “Lucky girl; can eat what she likes without putting on an ounce. She’ll still be as slender as she is now when all the rest of the girls her age are forty and fat, I make no doubt.”
“Edward, surely you do not mean to imply that I will be forty and fat?” said Amelia, dangerously.
“Well, assuming nothing happens to you first, Miss Hazelgrove, I fear that one day, being forty is quite inevitable,” said Edward, reflecting that as she already had a tendency to plumpness, nature would doubtless take its inexorable course. He added cheerfully, “Being fat and forty comes to all of us in time, save those who are blessed with the ability to eat like a horse without effect. ”
“How dare you!” Amelia’s voice rose to a shriek.
“Excuse me, how dare I what? It would be unrealistic to deny the passage of time,” said Edward. “Surely you hope that your beaux accept that time will pass? Otherwise it would be a miserable sort of marriage. I know I shall be decidedly portly by the time I am forty, and probably with a myriad of lines on a weatherbeaten face, from spending time outside.”
“I do not find this kind of banter amusing,” said Amelia, coldly. “When we are married, you will, of course, hire a steward and will not waste your time playing at being a farmer.”
“Well, as we are not getting married, your wishes to stop all my pleasures are by the by, are they not?” said Edward, pleasantly. “I am not going to ask you again, because I have become aware of how we should not suit at all. You do not enter into any of my interests, and I do not enter into any of yours.”
This was the point at which Amelia began a full-blown temper-tantrum which would not, Edward commented, have been considered appropriate by the children of the oldest of his married cousins, one of whom was almost three. As Amelia cared nothing for Edward’s young relatives, this did nothing to abate the storm. Edward arose, and made his bow to his host and hostess.
“I appear to be indigestible,” he said. “Thank you for the invitation. Perhaps I should avoid your daughter if I see her at any other functions.”
“By Jove!” said Mr Hazelgrove, “I’ll see you for breach of promise!”
Edward raised an eyebrow.
“And what promise is that, sir?” he asked.
“Why, my daughter considers herself as good as engaged to you!” said Mr Hazelgrove.
“Well, she could consider herself as good as engage to the Duke of Clarence, but it would not make him available for a breach of promise suit any more than it does me,” said Edward. “Her imagination must be greater than I realised.”
“But dear Edward, you came to propose to her early last month!” said Mrs Hazelgrove.
“And she refused me, as I am sure you know,” said Edward. “And she was quite right to do so; we should not suit at all, and I have been trying to explain this to her. I would never marry a woman whose expressed intent was to make me give up all my pleasures in life, after announcing she is only interested in what my social position can do for her, and who pouts like a baby when things do not go her way. Miss Hazelgrove is not, I think, mature enough for marriage; and I am glad to have realised it. She did me a favour when she refused my suit. I am sorry for her, because she will leave a bad impression of herself on the ton for future Seasons, but doubtless I shall have secured a wife by next Season, who, if we come to town, can help her overcome that bad impression.”
Mr and Mrs Hazelgrove exchanged glances. Amelia had been enjoying herself in the little Season, and now in the main Season, breaking hearts, and there had been those people from whom they had expected invitations, and whence none had been forthcoming. Edward Brandon could not be accused of being diplomatically tactful, but perhaps his words were as true as they were forthright.
“You will always be welcome, here, Edward,” said Mrs Hazelgrove, who had scolded Amelia for refusing Edward, just because he appeared to be out of the succession. The Brandon family, after all, was quite prestigious enough even for those without a title.
Edward bowed.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I think it would be uncomfortable,” he said. “I apologise for breaking up the company, but it will be better if I leave now.”
“Perhaps so,” said Mr Hazelgrove. He longed to slap Amelia for showing herself up like this and for letting a prize like Edward slip through her fingers. If Edward were gone, Amelia might at least behave herself.
Edward left, feeling quite aggrieved that he had been lured to the dinner party through false pretences, as the invitation had had a note appended, that had said that it would be a moderate-sized gathering, consisting of people well-known to Edward. And yet all of the gentlemen were fops and idiots, some of whom were also claimants to Amelia’s hand, and the ladies were all quite insipid. He might have dined quietly with Letty and Beth, and had decent conversation!
Edward took himself to his club, where he immersed himself in the newspapers.
Edward might have had his eyes opened about Amelia, but Amelia had not given up the idea of marrying someone who would be a baron one day. Whatever was causing Edward to behave so differently must be the fault of his horrid aunt and that wretched ward of hers. Amelia determined to watch them narrowly and look for an opening to separate Edward from his family.
Beth and Letty had spent a far more entertaining evening, at the final performance at the Theatre-Royal in Covent Garden, seeing the breathtaking spectacle of the Olympic Circus. The thrilling horsemanship of men vaulting on and off the backs of running horses, with and without stirrups had Beth applauding; and the men also performed such feats of acrobatics as the Egyptian pyramid, those at the base supporting those who balanced upon them, feats on the slack wire, including the amazing Mr Cunningham, who danced, Beth declared, better on the slack wire than she could manage on the unyielding ground! Of less interest was the interlude with the clown, but the feats of strength and balance were enough to keep both ladies gasping! The first part of the program was rounded up by the feats of riding of a single horseman, whose control of his mount was quite incredible. To leap from his horse’s back while it cantered over obstacles to land perfectly on its back again was something Beth could never have believed possible, had she not seen it with her own eyes!
“I can see that this is a marvellous way of drawing the attention to the lessons they give to ladies and gentlemen whom they instruct scientifically in the art of riding,” said Beth, looking at her program. “Though so far as I can see, the melodrama to follow, ‘Alphonso the Brave, or the captive princess’ is just an excuse for more feats of horsemanship, loosely held together with a plot.”
“Oh, almost certainly, my dear,” said Letty, “But it should still be entertaining.”
It was indeed entertaining, and the escape from the tyrant’s burning castle was most ingeniously arranged. Beth clapped until her hands tingled.
“I am glad we came to see this,” she said. “Tomorrow will be all solemn, being Good Friday, but tonight has been delightful.”
“It’s a shame Edward couldn’t come, but before I could ask him, he said he would be dining out and could not really cry off,” said Letty.
“Oh well, I hope he had some stimulating conversation,” said Beth. “One cannot expect him to dance attendance upon us every day.”
They went out of the theatre, and Beth drew her cloak around her more closely in the chill of the night air, and as she did so, felt a tentative hand reaching for her reticule. Beth gave a shout of surprise, and grabbed the hand, her wrists strong enough for digging Letty’s garden, which was one of the chores she enjoyed.
Her captive was a girl of about fourteen or fifteen, with a white, peaked face, shadows under her eyes and a look of terror in them.
“You are not a skilled thief,” said Beth.
The girl hunched into herself.
“It be the first time I tried it, though you won’t believe that, missus,” she said.
“I might. Why are you trying to steal from me?”
“Because I’m so hungry, missus. I ain’t had anything to eat, ‘cept a wrinkled old apple I found, since I escaped.”
“The child is quite blue with cold,” said Letty. “If you were planning on taking her home, I suggest asking the rest of her tale when she has got warm and had something to eat. You were planning on taking her home, I presume?”
Beth chuckled ruefully.
“I was,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Molly. Molly Burford,” said the girl.
“If you had a position, would you swear not to steal again?”
“Wouldn’t I just! My ma’d have the skin o’ me backside black and blue if she knew!” said Molly.
“Well, you had better come along with us, then,” said Beth.
Molly hung back.
“I ain’t going to no more knocking house,” she said.
“Molly, if that is what I surmise it to be, do you think we’d be dressed as we are?” said Letty, crisply. Molly regarded them.
“No,” she said. “You’re dressed classy, swell morts, not flash morts. I … I’ll trust you.”
“Good girl,” said Beth. “Here’s our carriage; hop in.”
Letty would permit no more questioning of Molly until the girl had been taken home and sent with Simpson, the footman, to be fed in the kitchen. Letty regarded with disfavour the supercilious look the footman gave the girl.
“Molly is wearing tawdry finery of a whore because she has been kidnapped,” she said, firmly. “She is a good girl, and Mrs Simpson is to find her clothes more appropriate to her situation, which is as a maid. You will instruct he to do so, and to arrange for Molly to have a bath, to help her get that awful make-up off her, and to put her into a night-rail and wrapper to come to us in the parlour when she has eaten her fill and bathed. And a bed is to be warmed for her; you can put her in the dressing room next to Miss Renfield. And if you say even one quarter of what you are thinking you may kiss goodbye to any honorarium I might have considered giving you for your services.”
“Yes, madam,” said Simpson in a colourless tone.
“So I should think,” said Letty.
Molly, clad in a night-rail several sizes too big, and a wrapper that had once been the banyan of a former resident of the house, appeared in the parlour. She was clean, and looked more salubrious by far.
“I know you are probably sleepy after your sufferings,” said Beth, kindly, “but tell us what happened; did Mrs Grey guess the main part of it, that you were kidnapped?”
“Well, yes an’ no, missus,” said Molly. “I come up to London to look for work, and this woman says to me she’s looking for a maid, and so I went with her, and she took all my clothes and said I’d do nicely for a client who likes virgins, and I said, what did she mean, and she told me I was a whore now. And I went for her, so she beat me, and then she told me to put on them clothes as you saw me in, and made my face up, and locked me in to wait. Well I weren’t about to lose my thing, so I climbed out of the window and down the drain pipe, account o’ how I know how to climb, and it weren’t no harder than going up after magpie’s nests to see what they been stealing, to get rewards. And then I thought, best place to hide is amongst other whores at Covent Garden, which even in the country we have heard of, account o’ how she’d look for me to try to run right away, see?”
“That was well thought out and clever,” said Beth.
Molly looked pleased.
“Well, then I thought, I have to eat, so… so I picked you to steal off of. And you know the rest.”
“Resourceful girl!” said Beth. “Would you like to be my lady’s maid and learn to be my dresser?”
“I’d think I was in heaven,” said Molly.
“Good,” said Beth. “That’s settled then! Now run along to bed, and Sowerby will train you and show you what to do. She’s kinder than she sounds, I promise you!”
“Thank you, missus!” said Molly, dropping a clumsy, country curtsey and running off.
“And now we hope that our instincts are right and she is not a born thief,” said Letty.
“Not one who’s that inept,” said Beth.
Whispers of a possible impending Crim. Con. proceeding were abroad almost as soon as the notice of the birth of a daughter to Tiffany Brandon, Lady Darsham, née Pelham, with no mention of her husband Lord Darsham in the notice. Gossip centred around whether Lord Darsham would merely quietly separate from his wife, or be satisfied with the church’s solution, a divortium a mensa et thoro, in which the divorce was legal but remarriage was not, or whether civil proceedings against somebody would go ahead, and the full weight of a Criminal Conversation action be brought, to be followed by the private Bill in Parliament to finalise the divorce.
“Aunt Letty, why do you think Lord Darsham is not just settling for a separation or a church divorce?” asked Beth, on hearing the speculation.
“Because Adam is a fool, a loveable fool, but a fool nonetheless,” said Letty. “He will be determined to give Tiffany her freedom so that she might remarry. Whether she will wish to or not is a moot point; and though her reputation will be in shreds, divorced women have remarried. But Finchbury certainly can’t afford her, especially if he has to pay thousands of pounds in damages, as is common in such cases. Which he won’t be able to, of course, and Adam is sure to let him off, if he only takes Tiffany off his hands. Not that she can marry him anyway, legally. At least, I say so, because a divorced woman may not marry the man with whom she committed adultery, but I wonder if this will be tried as a fraud case, that she was with child before marriage? I have no idea if it counts or not.”
“Is it not expensive to have to have Parliament sit in judgement too?” asked Beth.
“Indeed; as much as five thousand pounds,” said Letty. “But then, you should consider that there are gentlemen who will lose that much in a night, gambling; Adam has no vices, he can afford it, and to ask for negligible damages.”
“How insulting to Lady Darsham, though, to have a nominal fee set on her fidelity!” said Beth.
“Perhaps that is where Adam plans to make his revenge on being fooled,” said Letty, dryly.
The ringing of all the bells in all the churches in London, and the town criers shouting glad news was a relief from hearing speculation about Adam and Tiffany.
“Oyez! Oyez! The war with France is over! Allied sovereigns entered Paris on the thirty-first ultimo!”
“Well, it’s only taken five days for the news to get here,” said Beth. “You’d have thought the allies could have used the French telegraph to send the news to Calais, a few hours to cross the channel, and the telegraph to London from the coast. But what do I know? I’m only a woman.”
“I suppose they only wanted official news to get out, which means despatches,” said Letty. “But you would think that they could have sent a courier at least with news by word of mouth, someone known to the Home Office or at Horseguards. Still! At least we do know, now.”
Letty insisted that Beth should rest on the day of the ball. It would be a long affair, probably not breaking up until well into the small hours, and Beth thought that she would be glad to have been given such instructions. She got dressed excitedly, shivering in the thin gauze and muslin of her pretty ballgown, pulling her long gloves over the goosebumps on her arms. It would be hot enough, dancing with the press of people, and the heat from all the candles, but here in the little house in Red Lion Square it was cold! Beth swathed herself in a shawl on top of a white velvet spencer, and ran downstairs, as soon as Sowerby had dressed her hair for her, and fastened pink and white silk roses into the comb that held the hair off her face.
“You look a picture, Miss,” ventured Sowerby. As Sowerby was not given to compliment, Beth permitted herself to feel that she looked quite presentable. Had she known it, the thought that she might dance that fast and wicked dance, the waltz, with Edward had given her more countenance than usual, and she was very much in looks. She donned a pelisse and a cloak, and the fur-lined overshoes that would mean she was less likely to get chilblains, and they set off. Letty too looked quite fine, in a deep ruby velvet gown, with black lace over it, and she had written to ask if chaperones might be permitted long sleeves, for Letty had no intention of dancing. On receiving the intelligence that long sleeves were considered quite acceptable for full dress in this inclement spring, Letty had been much relieved. The heat from the crowd and the candles would help, but those people who were not dancing but sitting all evening would be likely to become chilled down.
Arvendish House glowed with light. Not only were the lights inside spilling out onto the pavement, but lanterns were set outside, some to give light, and some with coloured glass to make a gay patchwork of colour thrown onto the pavement. Inside, the grand hallway had a most wonderful mosaic floor which copied the design of the painted ceiling above it, an extravagant gesture that quite took Beth’s breath away. Footmen took wraps and coats, and stood ready to take overshoes as they were removed, and maids carried them upstairs to the rooms set aside as dressing rooms, so that the ladies might not be overheated once they were within the house. The dressing rooms were two in number, an outer room where the outside garments were laid, and where maids might wait in case of any need to mend garments; and an inner room was discreetly outfitted with a number of screens, behind which the usual offices might be found, for the comfort of the ladies during the evening. It was a relief that one would not have to make one’s way to an outside closet in the cold!
Letty guided Beth back down stairs, where footmen waited, and one showed them to the ballroom, and announced them. It was all very grand! The ballroom was a double-cube room, of perfect proportions, and the wonderfully painted ceiling that was in here, too, was echoed by the chalked floor. Beth had heard that some grand balls had chalked designs on the floor, but she had never seen it before, and had chalked her slippers, as had everyone else, at Elizabeth’s masked ball. The extravagant riot of colours of classical figures must have taken an age to execute! And yet in a short time, it would all be danced to a mix of colours! It seemed a shame, in a way, and yet, no more so, perhaps, than eating a marvellously contrived confection. So far, almost everyone was treading around the outside of the main pattern to preserve it for as long as possible until the dancing started, so that later arrivals, might appreciate it too. The candelabra threw myriad twinkling lights from their cut glass ornamentation, and the light and the colour was breathtakingly exciting!
Introduced to her host and hostess, Beth curtseyed deeply, and murmured a thanks for the invitation.
“Well, well, nice to meet you,” said the Duke.
“Juliana said what a nice-mannered girl you are, and how you did not make sheep’s eyes at Lord Byesby,” said the Duchess.
“Why, he is too old to make sheep’s eyes at, even if I found him handsome!” said Beth.
Lord Arvendish roared with laughter.
“Poor Byesby, too old and not handsome,” he said. “The vicissitudes of an ageing rake.”
“I, however, find Lord Byesby disturbingly attractive, and therefore treat him warily,” said Letty, as she, too, was introduced, “but he was a friend of my late husband.”
“Ah, Grayling Grey had many friends, most of whom were as true to him as he was to all men,” said Lord Arvendish. “You are welcome, Mrs Grey.”
They moved on into the room as others were arriving to be greeted, and Beth froze momentarily to hear announced,
“Miss Amelia Hazelgrove.”
“You know she is much in society,” said Letty, quietly. “It would be almost wonderful if she were not here.”
“I suppose so,” said Beth. “I wish to turn round casually so I may see the beauty over whom Edward has made such a cake of himself.”
She turned to look around, and saw the perfect figure and curling black ringlets of the Beauty, her skin fashionably pale, and her lips pinker than anyone might reasonably expect without some artifice. Their famous pouting bow made the artifice a little more obvious than if she had left them to their natural devices, and Beth was a little chagrined to find herself spitefully pleased about that. The pale skin was not so flawless as her own, and the eyes were a little small, and a pale blue-grey, Beth thought. She suppressed a sigh, however, for Miss Hazelgrove had a figure like a Greek statue, and was dressed to enhance it, her snowy bosoms thrust up on a pillow of blonde lace. Miss Hazelgrove wore her white muslin over a gold gown with a gold bodice and gold ribbons on her ruched sleeves.
“Doesn’t do anything for her complexion, gold,” said Letty, in satisfaction. “I daresay it looked quite fetching in daylight, but she forgot the candles. Always dress with candles in mind; they enhance any yellow, and that girl has a yellow cast to her skin tone.”
“So she has,” said Beth, happily.
At that moment, Edward arrived, and was announced. Amelia Hazelgrove spread her fan and flirted it at him as he finished greeting his host and hostess.
“La, Edward! How nice to find that you are attending the ball! I declare, the only thing that could change it from a tedious squeeze into something quite entertaining!” she said.
“Tedious? A ball by Lord and Lady Arvendish? Hardly!” said Edward.
“How rude!” said Beth to Letty. “I would not invite back someone who was so rude about any entertainment I put on, surely the Arvendishes have heard!”
“It is fashionable to be endowed with ennui over the Season,” said Letty, “and to have one’s entertainment described as a squeeze is, in fact, a compliment.”
“Indeed? It seems discourteous to me,” said Beth. “And Edward has said her nay, and he is the soul of courtesy!”
The Beauty had pouted. Beth thought it made her look like some of the more ill-natured putti one saw on engravings of the Italian Masters.
“How you do take one up, Edward! I merely meant that any event would be flat without your presence to make it interesting!”
“How strange!” said Edward. “And I thought that you found my interests in country life and farming quite boring. At least, as I recall, you were always yawning when I spoke of them.”
The Beauty gave a little titter.
“Oh, but you do not usually make such lapses of taste!” she said. “You have also been wont to tell me what excellent looks I am in, and to discuss fashion with me!”
“I have never discussed fashion with you, Miss Hazelgrove,” said Edward, “I have listened to you discussing fashion, however, and it appears I have managed better to mask my total lack of interest from you.”
“Why so formal, Edward?” said Amelia, coyly flirting her fan across her face. “You were used to call me by my name!”
“Well, that was when I was anticipating you accepting an offer from me,” said Edward. “I could hardly do so when we parted with angry words.”
Amelia laughed. It was a much-practised, low, breathy laugh.
“As if I considered that anything but a lover’s tiff!” she said. “I do hope we might soon be upon the same footing we were before?”
“I doubt that, Miss Hazelgrove,” said Edward. “You explained how you felt, and I came away. That is an end to it.”
“Oh, but Edward! All is changed now it seems likely that your uncle is entirely without an heir again, save you!” said Amelia.
“All may be changed in that respect, but I prefer not to court a woman whose motives are all too clear,” said Edward.
“What can you mean?” said Amelia.
“He said he doesn’t much wish to be with a woman who sells herself on a long term lease for a barony any more than one who charges a shilling an hour in Covent Garden,” said Letty.
Edward winced.
“I had not intended to put it so baldly, Aunt Letty,” he said. “Miss Hazelgrove, my aunt, the Honourable Leticia Grey; her ward, Miss Renfield.”
Beth curtseyed prettily.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Hazelgrove,” she said. “You will want, I think, to retire to the ladies’ dressing room and repair the damage to your lipstick, it has smudged when you pouted.”
Amelia gave a little squeal, and retreated, her fan over her mouth.
“She wears lipstick?” said Edward.
“You great fool, of course she does,” said Letty. “She’s so vain about her big lips she wants to draw even more attention to them.”
“Oh!” said Edward.
Beth half considered saying something pitying about how it was the only way she might draw attention from her imperfect skin, and decided she would not descend to such tricks. She smiled at Edward.
“And were you planning on filling in some places on my dance card?” she said.
“Yes, indeed!” said Edward. “The waltz is danced in Arvendish house, though many think it fast; and if you will save me the supper dance, too, I should like that. If you are happy to waltz? One has the undivided attention of one’s partner to chat, which can be interrupted in a country dance.”
It might have been nice to have had Edward’s attention on the scary and exciting closeness during the waltz, but wanting to talk was the next best thing.
Edward approached Lady Arvendish, and with a bow, asked her permission to waltz with Beth.
“She seems a nicely behaved girl; I have no objection,” said Lady Arvendish. “Do you know how to waltz, Miss Renfield?”
“I hope so, My Lady,” said Beth, dropping a little curtsey. “I have studied the instructions, that Aunt Letty obtained from Vienna, quite assiduously, and we had a dancing master in the other day. I am sure that Mr Brandon will put me right if I go wrong, though, in his usual tactful and kindly way.”
“I’ll steer, and you row,” said Edward, cheerfully.
Lady Arvendish smiled upon them. She was pleased to see Edward Brandon with a nicer seeming girl than the spoilt Beauty. Edward was popular at any soirée or ball, as he might be guaranteed to be kindly and polite even to the shyest and most unprepossessing debutantes!
Beth smiled shyly, and inscribed Edward’s name on her dance card next to the waltz. There was a second waltz, but he must not stand up with her more than twice, and only for one waltz, or she would be labelled as ‘fast’. And so long as he did not waltz with Amelia Hazelgrove, Beth did not mind in the least!
Chapter 11
Beth’s dance card was rapidly filled; she was by no means the prettiest girl at the ball, not the most elegant, but her air of genuine enjoyment made her a more approachable figure for tongue-tied young men than the more fashionable, and often younger, girls who carefully assumed expressions of boredom. She danced two dances with young men of more enthusiasm than skill, and when the third confessed to two left feet, asked if he would sit the dance out with her, so long as he could procure her some lemonade. Mr Grindlay, which was his name, managed this with alacrity, and a plate of macaroons and rout cakes.
“It’s been a long time since dinner,” he said with naïve honesty.
“It has, hasn’t it?” said Beth, never loath to nibble a macaroon. Mr Grindlay gave his heart to a charming young woman who did not make him dance and who understood and condoned hunger pangs.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Renfield?” asked Lady Arvendish. Beth arose to curtsey.
“Yes, thank you, your ladyship,” she said. “It is a beautiful house, and a lovely ball! I only regret that the chalking must be destroyed as we dance on it.”
“It was a very creditable job the chalkers made of it,” said Lady Arvendish, sounding pleased. “It is refreshing to see true enjoyment.”
“I don’t think I like fashionable ennui,” said Beth. “It seems so discourteous to someone who has gone to as much trouble as you have. Oh, have I made a social gaffe in saying so?” she asked.
Lady Arvendish smiled.
“Probably, my dear, but I don’t heed it. I am delighted that you have noticed, and are enjoying the result. And your view of courtesy is quite charming!” she smiled and moved off, circulating amongst those presently sitting out.
“Her Ladyship terrifies me,” confided Mr Grindlay.
“I think she seems a lovely woman,” said Beth.
“Yes, but you ain’t in her bad books,” said Mr Grindlay. “I don’t dance very well, and I can’t remember what to say when I’m supposed to make small talk, and I know nothing about fashion or i]on dits[/i] or anything like that, I don’t find crim. cons in the least bit interesting, and I don’t even find the turn of the dice very thrilling. Card games are moderately interesting, but only games of skill.”
“What things do interest you, Mr Grindlay?” asked Beth.
“Engineering projects,” said Mr Grindlay.
“Then I know just the lady you should meet,” said Beth. “She’s much cleverer than I am, and if you explain all about how it works, I should think she’d be able to discuss engineering with you. Miss Medlicott is immensely well read.”
“She didn’t seem to have anything to say when I danced with her earlier,” said Mr Grindlay.
“Well that’s because she’s even shyer than you are, and stutters at social gatherings,” said Beth. “Talk to her about bridges and steam engines.”
“I say! Really?” said Mr Grindlay, interested.
“Indeed! Miss Medlicott is a bluestocking and is looking for friends who share her interestes,” said Beth. “Ah, the dance is coming to an end, let me beckon her over…. Elizabeth, Mr Grindlay is interested in engineering and is consequently not the boring fellow you doubtless took him for whilst he was pretending not to be clever. Have you a dance free for him?”
Elizabeth blinked slightly at this forthright speech.
“I’ve been to see the Iron Bridge in Coalbrookdale, to see how it is constructed,” said Mr Grindlay, “and it is most ingenious.”
“I believe my next dance is free, Mr Grindlay, why do we not sit it out, and you can tell me all about it?” said Elizabeth. “I have some considerable knowledge of mathematics for a woman, and perhaps I will be able to follow your description.”
Mr Grindlay lost his heart for a second time that evening, especially when he discovered that Elizabeth was no more averse to light refreshments than Beth had been. It may be noted that Mr Grindlay was almost called out to fight a duel as Elizabeth forgot that she was engaged for the next dance and had to be discovered by her partner behind the potted palms discussing such subjects as reciprocating motion and pressure differentials.
Beth danced with Mr Dansey, and with Mr Chetwode, though in the case of the latter, they were of more danger to the other two couples in the set than not, Mr Chetwode being unco-ordinated in the extreme when not seated at an instrument, and much taller than Beth. Fortunately one of the people stood next to them was Lady Cressida, who was tolerant, it seemed, of Mr Chetwode, and on the other side, Mr Dansey had led out Abigail Meynell.
“You big oaf,” said Lady Cressida, without rancour, as she re-fastened the feather that Mr Chetwode had managed to knock out of her headdress, after the dance.
“Sorry, ma’am,” said Mr Chetwode. “I rather bent that. Buy you another. Buy you a dozen!”
Lady Cressida laughed.
“No real harm done,” she said.
Beth was waylaid by Major Whitall.
“May I ask for your hand in the waltz?” he asked. His arm was now out of its sling. “It is all the rage in France, you know.”
“I am sorry, Major, but I am already promised for the waltz,” said Beth. “Lady Arvendish gave her approval.”
“Oh. Who are you dancing with?” asked the Major, with more chagrin than grammar.
“I will be dancing with Mr Edward Brandon,” said Beth, demurely. “And I am engaged to sit out for the second waltz with Mr Philip Devereux.”
Philip Devereux had also asked permission to waltz and had asked Beth’s hand in order to wheedle her, he said, into gaining Elizabeth’s better graces than mere polite acceptance of a relationship. Elizabeth had declined to waltz with someone she did not know well, but suggested sitting the dance out instead.
“I don’t know this Devereux; sounds like a Frenchie,” said the Major.
“He’s a cousin of Elizabeth Medlicott and quite as English as you are,” said Beth.
“Hmmph. I hope you ain’t hoping to catch Brandon now it seems likely he’s heir to a barony again?” said the Major. “Heard the Baroness laid a cuckoo in the nest of the Baron, but it ain’t any good pursuing Brandon, he’s dotty over the Beauty, Miss Hazelgrove.”
“My second cousin Edward is indifferent to titles,” said Beth, coldly. “I have heard it said that soldiers gossip like old women, but I had never hitherto credited it; pardon me, my partner is looking for me.”
She walked into Edward’s arms for the waltz almost shaking with anger.
“That poltroon has put you in a pother,” said Edward. “Want to talk about it?”
“No, I want to call him out,” said Beth. “But as I cannot, I shall contrive to forget his foolishness. He was warning me off Mr Devereux because he sounds French, and off you because you are enamoured of Miss Hazelgrove.”
“So he made a wrong guess on both counts,” said Edward. “You are right; the best thing to do is to put such foolishness out of your mind. What were you talking about so assiduously with Mr, er, Grindlay?”
“He is interested in engineering, so I was persuading him that he and Elizabeth would get on tolerably well,” said Beth. “Did Miss Hazelgrove wish you to cry off the supper dance with me, in order to dance with her?”
“Yes, but I told her I was better brought up than to do something like that,” said Edward. “Beth, do you know what, she is most dreadfully shallow.”
“I fear that her parents have made much of her looks, and not encouraged her to broaden her mind,” said Beth. “Not that mine exactly encouraged me to do so, but I never had a pretty face to dwell upon, to take my mind off reading and wondering about the wonders of the world.”
“And your face reflects your delight in the world,” said Edward. “You are quite wasted as a woman, Beth, I’m sure you’d have made an excellent farmer.”
“Oh, more than likely,” said Beth. “But I am what I am, and I am content in my lot, you know!”
“It’s just as well,” said Edward. “Will you miss all this, when we are married? I like to live quietly in the country for the most part.”
“Not in the least,” said Beth. “I am enjoying it no end, it is a great novelty, but to be honest, I suspect that it would eventually pall, and I would long for my days to start early and finish early, as I am accustomed, instead of the other way about.”
“What a nice girl you are!” said Edward.
“And you are a most agreeable and thoughtful man,” said Beth. “I am surprised you did not get married years ago.”
Edward laughed.
“Oh, too buried in the country at first, and then enamoured of Amelia, and blind to everything about her that is the antithesis of what I really wish in a bride,” he said. “Really, I cannot see what I saw in her. She is pretty, but I do not think it will last for she frowns and pouts too much, and that makes her look like a dyspeptic codfish.”
Beth laughed.
“I expect somebody told her that her lips are sensuous and she tries so hard to draw attention to them that she has no idea that the attention drawn has become negative.”
“Well, perhaps that is so. Do you think I should point it out to her, in the spirit of having once been close?”
“I fancy she would take it in bad part,” said Beth, dryly, “and would be likely to take it as an insult not a friendly gesture.”
Edward considered.
“I believe you may be correct,” he said.
Beth smiled at him.
“I do not want to stop you doing what you think is right, but I cannot see Miss Hazelgrove taking what she would perceive as criticism,” she said. She wanted to say something, to make sure there was no void of silence in which she might enjoy too much the sensation of Edwards’s arm about her shoulder whilst hers encircled his and their other hands were clasped together, in the proper manner according to the rough sketches of the dance that had been in the instructions Letty had acquired. It was all very exciting, and at times their bodies came close to touching as they rotated through the dance’s evolutions.
Many young ladies were not waltzing; it was considered by some to be quite immoral, even if sanctioned by society leaders like the Duke and Duchess of Arvendish. Beth knew that this meant that there would be some sticklers who would never invite her to attend any ball they threw because of it, but she did not care. Being propelled around the floor by Edward was a heady sensation. Miss Hazelgrove was not one of those who eschewed the waltz, and Beth caught her looking over at her and Edward with a brief flash of anger, presumably that Edward was not languishing over not waltzing with her.
It was over too soon, and Beth retired to sit quietly beside Letty, fanning her hot face which was not red purely from the heat of the ballroom, and to recover from a giddiness that was not altogether to be explained by the circular motion of the dance.
Beth danced another dance with Mr Chetwode, who had likewise danced two dances with Lady Cressida. Lady Cressida did not waltz, but then, the image Beth conjured in her mind of Mr Chetwode waltzing was more comedic than in any wise romantic. It was, after all, quite plain that Lady Cressida was much less of an ice maiden with the unco-ordinated but very musical Mr Chetwode; or so Beth thought!
The supper dance left Mr Grindlay and Elizabeth to the right of Edward and Beth, and Edward said,
“I hear you are interested in engineering, Grindlay, have you looked much into drainage?”
“I can’t say I have,” said Mr Grindlay, “Though I can see it’s a necessary subject to study.”
“Even the principles of underdraining, which are simple enough require some necessities of engineering, though they may be summed up in two simple rules, which sound comedic and are yet profound,” said Edward.
“What are those?” asked Mr Grindlay.
“Water flows downhill; and it ain’t all water,” said Edward. “You have to make sure there’s somewhere for the runoff to go and to pass it through sand before it goes back into drinking water to clean it.”
“It is as profound as it sounds simple,” said Mr Grindlay. “I say, do the ladies mind us talking about drains?”
“For my part, I am glad that there are gentlemen who talk about drains, so that I may enjoy the comforts of their engineering,” said Beth.
“And I echo that s…sentiment,” said Elizabeth.
The conversation turned to bridges, after the couples had been involved in the exigencies of dancing, hampered by the inability of one gentleman ahead of them to keep time at all, and the flat footed shuffling of another, who was half of the couple who followed. This discussion went on into the supper room, Mr Grindlay and Elizabeth being placed most fortuitously opposite Edward and Beth, and, to Beth’s unholy glee sent Amelia Hazelgrove, on Edward’s other side, almost apoplectic.
The repast was grand, and Edward piled Beth’s plate high with delicious looking food. It was not ladylike, of course, to eat too much in public, but since the gentleman on Beth’s other side was Mr Chetwode, whose musical conversation with Lady Cressida was quite as deep and technical as that between Edward and Mr Grindlay, Beth felt at ease to enjoy the food, and to listen and learn from the discussion on bridge building.
Whether it was the food, the warmth, or the exercise, but Beth felt almost too tired to dance after supper. She was glad to be sitting out the waltz with Philip Devereux, and to watch how elegantly Edward performed with his hostess. And she fell asleep in the carriage on the way home, despite the cold, in contrast to the heat in the ballroom! Letty had to shake her awake, and Beth almost fell into bed, uncertain quite how Sowerby had helped her undress and get into her night rail and night cap.
It had been a most delightful evening, and Beth waltzed all night in Edward’s arms in her dreams.
Chapter 12
“This is a very select gathering, Miss Hazelgrove, I understood your mother was inviting a number of people to dinner,” said Edward, looking around with some disapproval at the dozen dinner guests, few of whom he knew well, and less of whom he liked at all.
Amelia laughed.
“Why, if it was too large a gathering, we should hardly exchange more than a dozen words, we were very hampered at the ball, were we not? And that tedious man going on about drains and demanding your attention, where the Arvendishes found him, I do not know; such a guy of a figure, and so pushy, quite a mushroom!”
“Hardly a mushroom, Miss Hazelgrove, the Grindlays may be found anywhere,” said Edward. “A perfectly respectable family, even if Mr Grindlay prefers his mathematics in the building of bridges, not the set of his neck-cloth. I found his conversation absorbing and informative.”
Amelia pouted.
“It was taking your attention from me,” she said. “And I thought I told you to call me Amelia?”
“My partner for the supper dance did not complain,” said Edward.
Amelia gave a tinkling laugh.
“Oh, I know she is a distant connection of yours and you have to do your duty, but Edward! What a little squab of a creature, so dumpy, and the amount she ate! Why, she knows herself to be of no account, and therefore does not dare complain about being ignored for such tedious subjects. I assure you, if I had been your partner, I would have made my feelings clear.”
“Oh, if Beth had objected, she would have said,” said Edward. “Lucky girl; can eat what she likes without putting on an ounce. She’ll still be as slender as she is now when all the rest of the girls her age are forty and fat, I make no doubt.”
“Edward, surely you do not mean to imply that I will be forty and fat?” said Amelia, dangerously.
“Well, assuming nothing happens to you first, Miss Hazelgrove, I fear that one day, being forty is quite inevitable,” said Edward, reflecting that as she already had a tendency to plumpness, nature would doubtless take its inexorable course. He added cheerfully, “Being fat and forty comes to all of us in time, save those who are blessed with the ability to eat like a horse without effect. ”
“How dare you!” Amelia’s voice rose to a shriek.
“Excuse me, how dare I what? It would be unrealistic to deny the passage of time,” said Edward. “Surely you hope that your beaux accept that time will pass? Otherwise it would be a miserable sort of marriage. I know I shall be decidedly portly by the time I am forty, and probably with a myriad of lines on a weatherbeaten face, from spending time outside.”
“I do not find this kind of banter amusing,” said Amelia, coldly. “When we are married, you will, of course, hire a steward and will not waste your time playing at being a farmer.”
“Well, as we are not getting married, your wishes to stop all my pleasures are by the by, are they not?” said Edward, pleasantly. “I am not going to ask you again, because I have become aware of how we should not suit at all. You do not enter into any of my interests, and I do not enter into any of yours.”
This was the point at which Amelia began a full-blown temper-tantrum which would not, Edward commented, have been considered appropriate by the children of the oldest of his married cousins, one of whom was almost three. As Amelia cared nothing for Edward’s young relatives, this did nothing to abate the storm. Edward arose, and made his bow to his host and hostess.
“I appear to be indigestible,” he said. “Thank you for the invitation. Perhaps I should avoid your daughter if I see her at any other functions.”
“By Jove!” said Mr Hazelgrove, “I’ll see you for breach of promise!”
Edward raised an eyebrow.
“And what promise is that, sir?” he asked.
“Why, my daughter considers herself as good as engaged to you!” said Mr Hazelgrove.
“Well, she could consider herself as good as engage to the Duke of Clarence, but it would not make him available for a breach of promise suit any more than it does me,” said Edward. “Her imagination must be greater than I realised.”
“But dear Edward, you came to propose to her early last month!” said Mrs Hazelgrove.
“And she refused me, as I am sure you know,” said Edward. “And she was quite right to do so; we should not suit at all, and I have been trying to explain this to her. I would never marry a woman whose expressed intent was to make me give up all my pleasures in life, after announcing she is only interested in what my social position can do for her, and who pouts like a baby when things do not go her way. Miss Hazelgrove is not, I think, mature enough for marriage; and I am glad to have realised it. She did me a favour when she refused my suit. I am sorry for her, because she will leave a bad impression of herself on the ton for future Seasons, but doubtless I shall have secured a wife by next Season, who, if we come to town, can help her overcome that bad impression.”
Mr and Mrs Hazelgrove exchanged glances. Amelia had been enjoying herself in the little Season, and now in the main Season, breaking hearts, and there had been those people from whom they had expected invitations, and whence none had been forthcoming. Edward Brandon could not be accused of being diplomatically tactful, but perhaps his words were as true as they were forthright.
“You will always be welcome, here, Edward,” said Mrs Hazelgrove, who had scolded Amelia for refusing Edward, just because he appeared to be out of the succession. The Brandon family, after all, was quite prestigious enough even for those without a title.
Edward bowed.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I think it would be uncomfortable,” he said. “I apologise for breaking up the company, but it will be better if I leave now.”
“Perhaps so,” said Mr Hazelgrove. He longed to slap Amelia for showing herself up like this and for letting a prize like Edward slip through her fingers. If Edward were gone, Amelia might at least behave herself.
Edward left, feeling quite aggrieved that he had been lured to the dinner party through false pretences, as the invitation had had a note appended, that had said that it would be a moderate-sized gathering, consisting of people well-known to Edward. And yet all of the gentlemen were fops and idiots, some of whom were also claimants to Amelia’s hand, and the ladies were all quite insipid. He might have dined quietly with Letty and Beth, and had decent conversation!
Edward took himself to his club, where he immersed himself in the newspapers.
Edward might have had his eyes opened about Amelia, but Amelia had not given up the idea of marrying someone who would be a baron one day. Whatever was causing Edward to behave so differently must be the fault of his horrid aunt and that wretched ward of hers. Amelia determined to watch them narrowly and look for an opening to separate Edward from his family.
Beth and Letty had spent a far more entertaining evening, at the final performance at the Theatre-Royal in Covent Garden, seeing the breathtaking spectacle of the Olympic Circus. The thrilling horsemanship of men vaulting on and off the backs of running horses, with and without stirrups had Beth applauding; and the men also performed such feats of acrobatics as the Egyptian pyramid, those at the base supporting those who balanced upon them, feats on the slack wire, including the amazing Mr Cunningham, who danced, Beth declared, better on the slack wire than she could manage on the unyielding ground! Of less interest was the interlude with the clown, but the feats of strength and balance were enough to keep both ladies gasping! The first part of the program was rounded up by the feats of riding of a single horseman, whose control of his mount was quite incredible. To leap from his horse’s back while it cantered over obstacles to land perfectly on its back again was something Beth could never have believed possible, had she not seen it with her own eyes!
“I can see that this is a marvellous way of drawing the attention to the lessons they give to ladies and gentlemen whom they instruct scientifically in the art of riding,” said Beth, looking at her program. “Though so far as I can see, the melodrama to follow, ‘Alphonso the Brave, or the captive princess’ is just an excuse for more feats of horsemanship, loosely held together with a plot.”
“Oh, almost certainly, my dear,” said Letty, “But it should still be entertaining.”
It was indeed entertaining, and the escape from the tyrant’s burning castle was most ingeniously arranged. Beth clapped until her hands tingled.
“I am glad we came to see this,” she said. “Tomorrow will be all solemn, being Good Friday, but tonight has been delightful.”
“It’s a shame Edward couldn’t come, but before I could ask him, he said he would be dining out and could not really cry off,” said Letty.
“Oh well, I hope he had some stimulating conversation,” said Beth. “One cannot expect him to dance attendance upon us every day.”
They went out of the theatre, and Beth drew her cloak around her more closely in the chill of the night air, and as she did so, felt a tentative hand reaching for her reticule. Beth gave a shout of surprise, and grabbed the hand, her wrists strong enough for digging Letty’s garden, which was one of the chores she enjoyed.
Her captive was a girl of about fourteen or fifteen, with a white, peaked face, shadows under her eyes and a look of terror in them.
“You are not a skilled thief,” said Beth.
The girl hunched into herself.
“It be the first time I tried it, though you won’t believe that, missus,” she said.
“I might. Why are you trying to steal from me?”
“Because I’m so hungry, missus. I ain’t had anything to eat, ‘cept a wrinkled old apple I found, since I escaped.”
“The child is quite blue with cold,” said Letty. “If you were planning on taking her home, I suggest asking the rest of her tale when she has got warm and had something to eat. You were planning on taking her home, I presume?”
Beth chuckled ruefully.
“I was,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Molly. Molly Burford,” said the girl.
“If you had a position, would you swear not to steal again?”
“Wouldn’t I just! My ma’d have the skin o’ me backside black and blue if she knew!” said Molly.
“Well, you had better come along with us, then,” said Beth.
Molly hung back.
“I ain’t going to no more knocking house,” she said.
“Molly, if that is what I surmise it to be, do you think we’d be dressed as we are?” said Letty, crisply. Molly regarded them.
“No,” she said. “You’re dressed classy, swell morts, not flash morts. I … I’ll trust you.”
“Good girl,” said Beth. “Here’s our carriage; hop in.”
Letty would permit no more questioning of Molly until the girl had been taken home and sent with Simpson, the footman, to be fed in the kitchen. Letty regarded with disfavour the supercilious look the footman gave the girl.
“Molly is wearing tawdry finery of a whore because she has been kidnapped,” she said, firmly. “She is a good girl, and Mrs Simpson is to find her clothes more appropriate to her situation, which is as a maid. You will instruct he to do so, and to arrange for Molly to have a bath, to help her get that awful make-up off her, and to put her into a night-rail and wrapper to come to us in the parlour when she has eaten her fill and bathed. And a bed is to be warmed for her; you can put her in the dressing room next to Miss Renfield. And if you say even one quarter of what you are thinking you may kiss goodbye to any honorarium I might have considered giving you for your services.”
“Yes, madam,” said Simpson in a colourless tone.
“So I should think,” said Letty.
Molly, clad in a night-rail several sizes too big, and a wrapper that had once been the banyan of a former resident of the house, appeared in the parlour. She was clean, and looked more salubrious by far.
“I know you are probably sleepy after your sufferings,” said Beth, kindly, “but tell us what happened; did Mrs Grey guess the main part of it, that you were kidnapped?”
“Well, yes an’ no, missus,” said Molly. “I come up to London to look for work, and this woman says to me she’s looking for a maid, and so I went with her, and she took all my clothes and said I’d do nicely for a client who likes virgins, and I said, what did she mean, and she told me I was a whore now. And I went for her, so she beat me, and then she told me to put on them clothes as you saw me in, and made my face up, and locked me in to wait. Well I weren’t about to lose my thing, so I climbed out of the window and down the drain pipe, account o’ how I know how to climb, and it weren’t no harder than going up after magpie’s nests to see what they been stealing, to get rewards. And then I thought, best place to hide is amongst other whores at Covent Garden, which even in the country we have heard of, account o’ how she’d look for me to try to run right away, see?”
“That was well thought out and clever,” said Beth.
Molly looked pleased.
“Well, then I thought, I have to eat, so… so I picked you to steal off of. And you know the rest.”
“Resourceful girl!” said Beth. “Would you like to be my lady’s maid and learn to be my dresser?”
“I’d think I was in heaven,” said Molly.
“Good,” said Beth. “That’s settled then! Now run along to bed, and Sowerby will train you and show you what to do. She’s kinder than she sounds, I promise you!”
“Thank you, missus!” said Molly, dropping a clumsy, country curtsey and running off.
“And now we hope that our instincts are right and she is not a born thief,” said Letty.
“Not one who’s that inept,” said Beth.